No Mercy
by maryh10000
Summary: Prompt: Roy, Kimblee, angst, "What is Mercy?", 500-1000 words. During Ishval. It's got Roy and Kimblee and is less than 1,000 words. Not sure if it answers the question, but mercy is mentioned.


___Author's Note: This is a response to the prompt by _mebh_, which was a Kimblee and Roy angst fic that is from 500 to 1000 words in length with the theme of: "What is mercy?" Basically, I'm trying to see if I'm even capable of writing angst.__  
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The first time Roy went into battle was during his fourth year at the Academy when he was sent to Ishval for his first combat training. That was before the Annihilation Campaign. There were men with guns in the uniform of Amestris fighting men with guns and knives and bare fists in the "uniform" of the Ishvalan man's robe and striped sash.

The Colonel in command told Private Second Class Mustang where to send his flames and he aimed carefully, to avoid noncombatants. Usually, he wasn't part of the cleanup and didn't see the victims of his attack. Sometimes he did. They were Ishvalan men in robes and striped sashes.

"So this is what it is like to kill," Roy thought. And he felt serious and adult and like blood strengthening the foundation of Amestris, to keep her people safe.

He went back to the Academy, graduated, passed his State Alchemist Exam, and was commissioned an officer with the rank of Major. The Fuhrer called him "Flame." He learned the names of some of the other State Alchemists, which may have been when he first heard the name "Red Lotus."

The next time Roy went into battle, the Annihilation Campaign had begun. There were men and some women with guns in the uniform of Amestris killing Ishvalan men, sometimes with guns or knives, sometimes without. Or women or the elderly, sometimes with guns or knives, usually without. Or children, usually without guns or knives, but sometimes with.

The officer in command told Major Mustang where to send his flames, but there was no particular need to aim carefully. It was just a question of how many passes it would take to blanket the area. He wasn't ever part of the cleanup, because it was too important to keep him moving. But he always saw the victims of his attacks because they kept him moving forward, through the area he had cleared.

That was when the Flame Alchemist first met the Red Lotus Alchemist. Kimblee laughed at him for being irrational and for showing no pride in his work.

That was also when the smell of burnt human flesh was seared into Roy's memory, becoming more familiar than the smell of a Sunday roast. And when Roy learned the feel of human fat, dissipated into the air from cremated human beings, sticking to his lips.

And he saw the victims, but it was hard to tell who might have been a soldier. There was rarely enough left of the robes to tell who might have worn a striped sash. But sometimes there was enough left of the skeletons to tell who could not possibly have been a soldier. Or perhaps the Ishvalans simply had many, many soldiers less than four feet tall.

"So this is what it is like to murder," Roy thought. And he felt serious and old and dirty and swore to himself that the Amestrians he protected should never know the true price of their protection.

Because he still thought that each action would be the last. "This time," he thought, "the rebels will be cowed, and we can stop this awful demonstration of the price of threatening Amestris." Because he didn't believe that it could truly be the Fuhrer's intent to wipe out an entire people.

Then Roy heard the news about Logue Lowe, but still he went into battle. And nothing changed, but now he knew that there would be no end until every Ishvalan was dead. Finally, he came to the last one in Daliha: an old man with a bloody robe and a dead dog, whose last words were implacable judgment.

"So this is what it is like to be a monster," Roy thought. And he felt cold and dead and knew that he was what even those on his own side called him: inhuman, a demon. He had continued to kill when he no longer believed it was necessary to protect Amestris. He had not refused to go on, like Major Armstrong. He had not done it to stay alive, like Maes.

And that was when Roy knew that Kimblee had been right after all. He could not avert his eyes from the dead. They would not forget.

They would not forgive.

There would be no mercy.


End file.
